


In The World Of Dreams

by Insomnia_Productions



Series: The Rat Revolution (Mat/Rand Drabbles) [13]
Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: Book 8: Path of Daggers, Established Relationship, Light Angst, M/M, Nostalgia, Tel'aran'rhiod, but not really bc im weak and this book made me sad, this drabble is super late I finished rereading PoD like a month ago
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:48:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22972783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insomnia_Productions/pseuds/Insomnia_Productions
Summary: “This is a dream, isn’t it?”“It is. And it isn’t.”Mat rolls his eyes, tugging gently on the medallion around his neck. “Of course. That clears that up.” But he smiles slightly, crookedly, in that way only he can.//This can be read as a sequel to The Dragon And His General (the previous work in this series).
Relationships: Rand al'Thor/Mat Cauthon
Series: The Rat Revolution (Mat/Rand Drabbles) [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1415056
Comments: 12
Kudos: 30





	In The World Of Dreams

It isn’t hard to find Mat’s dream in  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ . 

Maybe it’s to do with  _ ta’veren _ . Most things are, it seems. He thinks maybe someone once told him, or told someone he used to be, that it’s easiest to find the dreams of people you love. That, oftentimes, their dreams find you. He doesn’t know what about that thought scares him. 

Maybe Mat’s dream is easy to find because it is dark and opaque. Not hidden, in the way Aes Sedai dreams are hidden, not all locked up and murky, like his own dreams are. Just dark, like curtains drawn quickly over a window, like a door hastily shut just before some illicit activity takes place in a room. It might be surprising to anyone else, for such a brash person to have such private dreams. But he knows Mat better than most, understands the depths of his inner world better than anyone, and the quiet pride he feels at that fact only sours his mood. 

He turns away from Mat’s dream. Unseen, it approaches from behind. 

“Rand?” 

Rand turns, stamping down surprise as he feels the dream wash over him. His fingers turn in his pocket, rolling cool metal between them. 

Mat sits cross-legged on a large bed, deep pink curtains with heavy gold embroidery hanging from the tall wooden frame. His gaze flits between Rand’s face and the crown driving thin cuts into his forehead. Rand looks around, looks at the unfamiliar scenery outside the window, at Mat’s torn clothes, at the ribbons on the floor. He thinks of a hundred things to say.  _ Where are you  _ and  _ I miss you  _ and  _ I shouldn’t stay with you  _ and  _ There’s something I’ve wanted to ask you for years and years _ . 

In the end, he only says, “You’re alive.”

“More or less,” Mat shrugs. And then, slowly, “This is a dream, isn’t it?” 

“It is. And it isn’t.” 

Mat rolls his eyes, tugging gently on the medallion around his neck. “Of course. That clears that up.” But he smiles slightly, crookedly, in that way only he can. 

Rand feels warmth flood through him, washing over his whole body, in a way he hasn’t felt in what must be months but feels like years. Altara was cold, Cairhien colder, and Min’s easy friendship alleviates the chill, but it was Mat who warmed him, made him feel like Illian, Cairhien, Rhuidean, every place was home. It feels good, and it feels familiar, and it feels somehow scary, like a Grey Man, like a threat that is unseen but not unfelt. 

He struggles to shake the feeling, struggles to force out words to distract him. “Where is this?” 

Suddenly Mat seems to notice his surroundings, eyes darting around the room, to the ribbons, to the door, cracked just slightly open. His clothes flicker and repair themselves; the ribbons disappear; heavy padlocks grow like thick vines over the door, forcing it shut. 

“Ebou Dar,” he says shortly. 

_ What happened here, _ Rand wants to ask. Mat shouldn’t have been in Ebou Dar at all, but somehow, looking at the expression on his face,  _ why  _ is not the question he cares about. Before he can ask, Mat starts to talk again. Perhaps he, too, is looking for words to distract himself from some uneasy feeling. Rand doesn’t interrupt him; he doesn’t have the right to. After all, he is the one who sent Mat away. 

“You have a new crown.” Mat slips from the bed and comes to stand before him, one hand brushing lightly over the Crown Of Swords. Even that hurts, thin metal spines pricking his skin. Mat frowns. “I liked the old ones better.” 

Rand looks at him. “Cairhien? Illian? You hated those, too.”

Mat shakes his head, stepping away. “Emond’s Field.” 

The world ripples around them, tiled floor turning to dirt, sky stretched out above them, vast and cloudless, the air stirring gently and infused with the scent of mid-spring flowers. 

Mat pulls a face, looking down at his brown farmer’s clothes with an odd sort of fondness. “I never imagined I would be happy to be back here, in these boring old clothes.” A thin shiver ripples through him and he turns away abruptly, rubbing absently at his wrists. Rand watches him stumble a few steps away, and then realizes with a jolt that his royal attire has vanished, too, replaced with the clothes he had worn on that summer evening so many years ago, when he and Mat had sat by the brook and talked about the future. He feels a smile touch his lips at the memory. They had talked about running away, traveling the world… and something else. His hand slips into his pocket, touching cool silver; he pulls it out again, as though burned. 

A few paces ahead, Mat is running his fingers over the petals of tall flowers. They weave together as he does so, forming a ring of green, speckled with sunbursts—work completed in that effortless way only possible in dreams. And Rand remembers. 

“Emond’s Field,” he echoes, and smiles. It feels unfamiliar on his face. “My first crown was in Emond’s Field.” 

Mat looks over, and grins at him. For a moment, the Crown Of Swords flickers, vanishing from his head, leaving a soft ring of yellow flowers in its place. The crown returns too quickly, colder and sharper against his forehead than before. Rand curls his hand into a fist to keep himself from flinging it from his head. 

Suddenly he feels the urge to run, to let the One Power rip through him so that it tears the World of Dreams apart before he can succumb completely to the urge to stay here and live this dream forever. 

It’s so quiet here, in the meadow just beyond the village. He can hear the brook gurgling somewhere nearby, hidden by tall grasses. Ladybugs buzz softly, red ones flitting from one plant to another, little yellow ones perched on the stalks, blue ones climbing steadfastly past them. A faint breeze stirs the air; Rand watches it ruffle Mat’s hair. And, oh, Light, Mat,  _ Mat _ is here, and safe, and grinning at him like they’re still boys playing in the meadow, with no knowledge of the outside world beyond the notion that fireworks came from there. 

Already the memories of battle, of madness, are fading. Rand clings to them, forcing them to the forefront of his mind, feeling cold and sick flush away his warmth. He can’t afford to stay the night in this dream; if he must wake without it, he doesn’t think he will be able to wake at all. 

Mat notices the change and comes closer.

“Rand? What’s wrong?” Rand backs away from him and Mat halts, irritation flashing across his face. “Don’t say what you’re about to say.” 

“I have to go,” Rand forces out. “I- I can’t stay here. It’s not—safe.” 

Mat throws up his hands. “Why not? It’s just a dream.” 

“I can’t stay,” Rand says softly. “If I stay, I won’t be able to leave.” 

The sigh he receives in response is infuriated and heavy. Once again, the scenery shifts, and Rand finds himself in a small, messy room with brown walls and a sturdy bed; Mat’s old bedroom in Emond’s Field. It smells like wood and earth; Rand breathes in the scent of home while Mat throws himself backwards onto the bed, pulling a face as it creaks loudly. 

“It’s smaller than I remembered, but I reckon we’ll both still fit.” Sitting up, he squints at Rand. “You look like you’ve been to the Pit of Doom and back. Get some sleep, at least.” 

Rand shakes his head, hand dipping into his pocket again. Moving slowly, he sits next to Mat on the bed. “I really can’t stay. But, before I go…” He takes his hand out, fist closed, and gestures for Mat to hold out his own hand. Mat watches with interest as Rand places the object onto his palm, closing his fist before Mat can see it. 

“You don’t have to decide yet, but… keep this safe for me. Then, when you come back, you can give it back if you want… or you can keep it.”

Mat looks at him in confusion. “Rand—”

“It doesn’t matter—whether you want it or not. Just come back soon, so you can tell me—whatever the answer is.” Rand stands up from the bed, moving away. He feels himself pull away from the dream, sees his physical form start to flicker and fade. 

Mat is on his feet in an instant, fist still clenched tightly around the object. He reaches the other hand out, expression caught between a scowl and a plea. “Rand, wait—” 

“I love you,” Rand says, but the dream is distorting, and he isn’t sure if Mat hears. 

The dream drifts idly away. Rand watches it go from within the Void, and returns to his wandering. 

* * *

Mat wakes in the infirmary room to the sound of moans and sobs. Healers and Wise Women rush around in a flurry; no one here pays any notion to yet another man with tears in his eyes. He wipes them roughly away, colored dots dancing over his eyelids. Eyes shut, he runs his fingers over the cold metal. 

“Where’d you get that?” the man in the next bed asks. Mat ignores him. 

He slips the ring onto his finger, and when he opens his eyes, they are dry. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> me: rolls in a month and a half late with hot chocolate and a fic I wrote instead of doing my math homework
> 
> ALSO if you want to read about Mat and Rand as teens in Emond's Field talking about traveling the world and ~~other things~~, I actually wrote a drabble about that a few months ago, which you can read here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22253482
> 
> //
> 
> It has been TOO LONG. I actually finished PoD like a month ago and I've been sitting on this fic idea for weeks, and today I finally had time to just sit down and write it. I've missed cauthor so much, y'all have no idea.
> 
> I don't think I'll be able to write any more in-universe cauthor drabbles for WH to ToM, given that Rand and Mat don't actually meet again until AMoL... guess it's AU time from now until Tarmon Gaidon :D
> 
> As always, thank you for reading, and hey, if you liked this fic and want to see more, maybe leave a comment ^-^  
> And if you want to talk about cauthor or WoT, hmu @insomnia-productions on Tumblr!


End file.
